Too Little Too Late
by Morganeth Taren'drel
Summary: -Brotherhood AU/Pre-Series- Caleb has gone missing while on the hunt for a werewolf, and Sam is desperate to find his friend. But they don't know where to begin looking.
1. Chapter 1

**Too Little Too Late**

**AN**: An interesting note about this story, I actually wrote the second scene first, and then wrote what I thought would be the second, but when I'd finished it, I felt it would work better as the first. Not the first time I've discovered that I did something backwards, always a good time thought.

I'd like to thank Ridley C James, for the use of her characters, and graciously taking the time to answer my questions. Thank you! I couldn't have written this without you! Please enjoy this story.

Dean – 19 Sammy – 15 Caleb – 27

**Disclaimer**: I don't own the characters from Supernatural or the Brotherhood.

**Chapter One**

Sam scanned over the topographical map, going over every inch for what had to be the twentieth time. He was fighting to keep control of his panic, as he desperately searched for the most logical location where Caleb was being held. But there were simply too many options.

"How the hell did this happen?!" John Winchester shouted from the other room.

Sam had been doing his best to drown out the same old argument. In the Winchester world accidents or whatever you wanted to call it just weren't acceptable.

"I don't know…" Dean's voice didn't carry nearly as well as John's, especially not when he was blaming himself for his friend's disappearance.

"Reaves just took off!" there was more heat in Dean's voice now, and that caught Sam's attention.

He glanced up from the map, taking a moment to study the outline of his father that he could see through the partially opened door. Little had gone as planned so far, and it didn't look like it would be getting any better.

"Without a word to you?" his father demanded incredulously.

Sam purposely tuned them out, not wanted to hear anymore blame piled on his brother for this hunt. They'd taken up the hunt for the werewolf at the beginning of the month. There were more than enough reports to substantiate the presence of the creature, including several bodies found the month before with their hearts missing.

Sam had taken the time to read the medical reports his dad had acquired and found what he believed to be some inconsistencies with a werewolf's attack. The medical examiner hadn't come out and said it, but if you read between the lines, it looked like the hearts had been purposefully removed. He couldn't for the life of him remember ever reading about a werewolf being so careful.

It wasn't enough however to dissuade anyone from packing silver bullets, especially since he had yet to find a suitable alternative. It was driving him insane, if not a werewolf than what? What would take the hearts of humans, hunt during the full moon? The pieces just weren't falling into place, and now Caleb was missing.

Sam's stomach clenched at the thought of his friend, lying lifeless and bloodied somewhere in the woods. All the attacks had been centralized around the outskirts of Dolores Colorado, which was making it hard to determine just where the creature was holding up when it wasn't out for the hunt. Sam knew they must have struck close to home, with their search at the north end of town, since that's where Caleb had been taken. But that didn't really narrow down their field of search.

With a frustrated sigh, Sam turned away from the map; the lines were all beginning to meld together, making it impossible to concentrate. Rubbing at his tired eyes Sam rocked back in his chair. Across the room the old floorboards creaked as Dean walked into the living room. Sam studied his brother noting the tension in his stance, and face as he looked futilely around the room.

Dean had been the one hunting with Caleb when Reaves had disappeared; unfortunately never hunting alone didn't always work out like it should. Sam had tried to talk to his brother but Dean was too busy blaming himself, Sam knew his brother well enough to read him.

"Has Mac been called?" Sam asked drawing Dean's attention.

"Yeah," his brother replied voice rough, "He's taking the next flight out."

"Good," Sam pulled both hands through his unruly hair. He didn't want to just sit here and do nothing until Mackland arrived, but he thought their best chance probably rested with the physician.

Sitting forward on his chair Sam noticed Dean's eyes staring intently at the map, "What is it?" he asked trying to follow his brother's line of sight.

Dean looked up, appearing surprised, "Nothing," he replied with a shake of his head.

"We're going to find him Dean," Sam said firmly as his brother turned to leave the room. He couldn't remember ever reassuring Dean in a situation like this; it was always the other way around.

---SPN The Brotherhood SPN---

Dean jerked back to consciousness a muttered curse escaping him before he'd even opened his eyes, followed by a pained groan. The movement sent his body swaying, the clank of rusty chains punctuating the silence around him. With effort Dean managed to raise his head between his arms and confirm what his aching body was screaming at him. Dean was hung suspended from the rough ceiling his boots barely able to touch the ground.

Drawing in a dust filled breath; Dean began to cough the motion jerking at his already numb shoulders. "Fuck," he spat the coppery taste from his mouth, blinking against the pain, and tried to get his bearings. It didn't take a genius to know he was in trouble, Dean tried for a minute to take stock of himself but in the dark room he couldn't see much of anything.

Blinking rapidly Dean fought to think clearly, to remember what had happened before he'd clearly lost consciousness,

"Deuce, you back with me?"

"Damien?!" he latched onto the sound of his friend's voice like a life line, hazel eyes searching the shadows.

"Yeah I'm here," Caleb said softly, and Dean could hear him shifting off to his right, boots scraping against the ground.

Dean let his head drop, "I wish that was a good sign…"

"Hey, I'm here to rescue you," Reaves threw back indignantly.

Chains continued to rattle and not just from the ceiling he was suspended from, "Oh well, I feel much better now." Dean began to cough again, his body straining to draw a clear breath.

Dean hung limply after the fit finally passed, "Do I even want to remember what happened?" he asked spitting more blood from his mouth.

"Probably not," was Caleb's harsh reply.

"Where are you?" Dean asked peering into the darkness; he couldn't see anything beyond darker shadows.

Metal links rattled loudly, "Chained to the wall."

Dean choked on a dry laugh, "Lucky bastard…" he muttered trying to ignore the pronounced ache forming at the base of his neck.

"Guess I didn't piss her off as bad as you," Caleb returned.

"Her…" Winchester repeated.

-_A gust of wind tore through the trees, swirling around Dean's position…Gun raised he caught the flash of movement, and took off after it…She stepped from the shadows, flesh bare under the night sky, eyes aglow with an eerie light_-

"Ungh," the groan slipped through Dean's tightly clenched teeth as the flashes of memory spiking through his aching skull.

"Stay with me Deuce!" Caleb ordered sharply.

He swallowed back the pain, "Don't have to shout." Dean drew several shallow breaths, "Not a werewolf?"

"Another gold star for baby Einstein," Reaves said in confirmation.

Dean coughed feeling the muscles in his side and back pull sharply, "Really have to…start listening…to the kid," he gasped painfully.

"In our defense all intel pointed to werewolf, even the lunar cycle fit," as he spoke Dean could hear him shifting, metal grating against metal, material scraping against the rock.

"You have any better ideas?" he asked letting his head fall against his right arm.

Caleb was silent for a moment, and Dean seriously hoped that was a good sign. "Best guess now? Skin-walker," he answered voice sounding closer to Dean's ears.

"At least we were packing the right weapons," he wheezed tiredly.

"I had a shot," Dean admitted trying hard not to remember specifics, his head still felt about ready to crack open.

"Why didn't you take it?" Reaves demanded, though there was no heat in his voice.

Winchester blinked painfully aware of how much that mistake had cost him, "I don't know…"

---SPN The Brotherhood SPN---

Sam strode out of their house, feeling way too antsy to just sit down and do nothing. Dad had left an hour ago to pick up Mac from the airport in the nearby town of Cortez. Sam felt like pulling out his hair, Caleb had been gone for too long, and they were still no closer to finding him.

Sam had taken that time to compile a list of creatures that could possibly fit the descriptions of the few witnesses. If it absolutely couldn't be a werewolf, and Sam felt positive it wasn't, his best guess was some form of shapeshifter. But he was continually hung up on the hearts; he couldn't find any records of a shapeshifter removing its victim's heart.

Drawing in a breath of the crisp morning air, Sam blinked in surprise when he saw the trunk of the Impala standing open. Walking over he saw Dean looking down into the hidden compartment. He looked lost in thought both hands resting on the back of his car. For a moment Sam was worried Dean was planning to take off half cocked on a rescue mission. It was what he expected; it was what Sam wanted to do.

"What are you doing?" he asked curiously brown eyes sweeping over the array of weapons and protection charms.

Dean looked up slowly, his eyes not actually meeting Sam's, "You ever wonder why the things we hunt do what they do?"

"What?" Sam blinked in surprise that was the absolute last question he's expected Dean to ask.

"Why it kills," his brother clarified, hazel eyes finally looking into Sam's.

The younger hunter shook his head slightly, "You sure you didn't hit your head last night?"

Dean gave him an unimpressed look, "I'm being serious."

"Alright," he placated with a raised hand, "Sure I've thought about it before, I just always assumed if I asked you your answer would be 'Because they're evil Sam.'" He thought he'd done a rather good imitation of his brother's voice.

"Yeah probably," Dean admitted with a crooked smirk.

Sam leaned his hip against the side of the Impala, "What would you say to the possibility that we're actually hunting a shapeshifter?"

"What makes you think that?"

"Just the fact that I can't think of anything else it could be," he replied with a frustrated sigh. "The few eyewitness reports were sketchy at best, but they all spoke of some animal like creature. And we both know werewolves don't actually change like that."

Dean dropped the lid to the hidden compartment before returning his attention to Sam, "What about the missing hearts?"

Sam pulled a hand through his hair, "That's what doesn't make sense to me, I can't think of what the shapeshifter would need with them. It's not like tricking hunters into believe it's a werewolf would help it, silver bullets work on both."

"And none of that helps narrow down were the bastard took Caleb!" Sam fumed waiting to see if Dean would rise to the frustration.

Dean just slammed the trunk with a sigh and moved towards the house.

"What's the matter with you?" Sam demanded stalking after his brother.

Dean glanced at Sam through the corner of his eye, "We can't do anything until we narrow down the search area."

"I know that!" he threw back, hands clenching into fists, "But I'm supposed to be the one saying it." Sam couldn't say for sure, but he could have sworn he saw his brother smile, before Dean disappeared back inside the house.

---SPN The Brotherhood SPN---

"You still with me Deuce?" Caleb called into the darkness.

It was a minute before Dean spoke voice thin, "Yeah…"

Reaves had been working to free himself for what felt like hours, his wrists were cuffed together a thick rusted chain attaching him securely to the rough stone wall. He had no clear idea of where they were being held beyond the general knowledge that it was a cave.

He'd tried to keep Dean talking while he worked to free himself, but it was an uphill struggle. He knew the kid was hurt, and wished he had even a little light to find out how bad. "C'mon Deuce," he coaxed, while the fingers of his right hand tried to manipulate the broken clip from his mechanical pencil inside the lock.

"Tell me what you know about skin-walkers."

"Again?" Dean said with a cough that made Reaves wince.

"Humor me," he made it an order, needing Dean to fight to stay awake.

Winchester coughed again, his breathing sounding harsh and labored, "What…do you want to know?"

"Tell me about the Yenaldlooshii," he said quickly, grinding his teeth together as he felt the mechanism shift in the lock.

Caleb heard what sounded like it could have been a laugh, if it hadn't been so pained, "No one told me…there'd be a test…"

"Just trying to keep you on your toes Deuce."

The kid sucked in a sharp breath, "S'all that's touching…" he mumbled.

"Damnit," Reaves swore under his breath. "Don't tell me you've forgotten about the Navajo Skin-walkers lore, have you?" he forced himself to ask, trying to keep his tone light.

"I remember," Dean answered softly, "I remember…"

Holding his breath Caleb felt the lock begin to give, the cuff binding his wrist loosening just a fraction. He twisted the small piece of metal, wanting to cry out in relief when the old cuff fell away. Caleb made short work of the other, and immediately reached into his front pocket for his lighter.

"I've got it Deuce," he assured sparking the flame to life, "Just hang on a little longer."

"That's not funny…" Dean returned.

The tiny flame fought against the darkness, offering Reaves his first glimpse of their surroundings. There didn't appear to be much in the room besides themselves, but he did catch sight of a lantern. Caleb lit the wick filling the small room with light, before turning his full attention on Dean.

"Damn…" the word left him barely above a whisper.

Winchester hung suspended from the ceiling, the toes of his boots barely touching the floor. The kid was a mess, his body swaying as tremors ran down his spine. There was dried blood around his mouth, and trailing down the side of his head, there was also a fair amount staining the front of his shirt.

Caleb didn't waste a minute going to his friend's aid, "You're a mess Deuce."

"Prettier than you…Damian," Dean returned squinting at him.

"That's good," he said dryly, "Keep your sense of humor." Reaves looked up at the restraints holding Dean's bloodied wrists. "C'mon lets get you down from there."

With great care Caleb unhooked Dean from the ceiling already prepared to take the kid's weight. Dean would have collapsed immediately if the psychic hadn't been there to gently lower him to the ground. "You know the drill," he said taking a careful hold of Dean's head as he thumbed back the lid on his right eye. Reaves couldn't say with absolute certainty but he thought both pupils were responsive to the light from the lantern.

"Looks like you hit your head pretty good," Caleb reached back for their only source of light bringing it closer.

"Don't have to worry about that," Dean replied sounding a little more alert.

"I know you Winchester's have skulls of steel, where else do you hurt?"

"Arms are numb," he muttered blinking slowly.

"Just wait until your circulation catches up," it wouldn't be pleasant. Reaves pulled aside Dean's button down shirt, and carefully ran both hands down the kid's ribs. He wasn't surprised when Winchester gasped in pain, his reflexes trying to drive him away. "Easy," he breathed gently, finishing his exam.

"Your bedside manner sucks," Dean pointed out eyes falling closed.

"Which is why I became an architect and not a doctor," Caleb returned glancing briefly towards the only way out of their room.

He felt torn, as he rested on hand lightly on Dean's forehead, "I need you to stay awake Deuce."

"Yeah, yeah," Winchester breathed not opening his eyes.

"Hey," he snapped, "Look at me!"

Dean's eyes snapped open immediately in response to the harsh order. Caleb felt guilt rise up in him at resorting to using a John Winchester tactic. But if that's what it took to keep the kid conscious he wasn't about to stop or apologize.

"Don't try to move, I'm just going to take a quick look around okay?" he made it a question, even though he knew it had to be done no matter what.

"I'll be here," Dean replied with a slight nod of his head.

---SPN The Brotherhood SPN---

"Hey Mac," Sam greeted with obvious relief, coming outside to meet the Scholar.

Dr. Mackland Ames rested a hand briefly on the fifteen year-old's shoulder easily able to tell just how worried the boy was. It was nothing compared to the fear that had gripped his own heart when he'd received the call from John. It didn't matter how many years Caleb hunted, or how old he got, nothing could ease Mac's fears of loosing his only son.

He'd wanted to be able to blame John for this happening on his watch, but knew the Knight was already blaming himself. Besides nothing would be accomplished by throwing accusations around.

"How's Dean?" he asked the boy, knowing how easily Dean could begin blaming himself for something like this.

Sam shook his head, "He hasn't been acting like himself."

"What do you mean?" John asked coming up to Sam's left.

"I don't know, lost in thought," he shrugged, "Way too calm? It's like he's not even worried about finding Caleb."

"It's unusual but this could be his attempt at dealing with the situation," Mac offered, he thought it was a better way of dealing rather than rushing off unprepared.

Sam looked at him intently a great deal of worry showing in those large brown eyes, "That's what I've been telling myself, but I'm not used to him being the voice or reason."

Mackland squeezed Sam's shoulder before moving towards the front door, he couldn't waste anymore time.

Dean was waiting for them in the living room, and got to his feet as the Scholar stepped into the room. "Mac," he said with a nod of his head.

The physician offered John's eldest a smile as he reached out with his right hand intending on pulling the boy into a quick hug. The second his fingertips made contact with Dean's denim jacket, his mind was assaulted by sharp images and emotions. He saw Dean collapsing deep in the forest, a shadowed figure standing over his prone body. Pain washed over him, as fear gripped his heart. A dark cave opened up before him, and in the distance he could hear rushing water. Mackland saw the boy hanging limply from the ceiling.

Breathing sharply though his nose Mac lashed out with his mind, pinning the creature against the far wall. He heard both Sam and John shout in surprise, but wasn't paying attention to the actual words.

"You're not Dean," he said flatly.

Thanks for Reading!

Morganeth Taren'drel


	2. Chapter 2

**Too Little Too Late**

**AN**: Back when I started writing this story, I didn't really consider the possibility that I could convince my readers that the skin-walker was actually Dean. It wasn't until my editor read the first chapter, and was so shocked by Mackland's reaction to Dean, that I actually wanted it to work out that way.

I want to thank all of you for your kind support; I hope you enjoy the next chapter! I thought it would be the end, but it looks like we're going into a third chapter. Thanks again!

**Disclaimer**: I don't own the characters from either Supernatural or the Brotherhood

**Chapter Two**

John had a gun in hand, as he came up next to Mackland, "Are you sure?" he demanded gruffly.

"Mac you know me!" the creature pleaded fear showing on Dean's face as he looked imploringly from Sam to John. "Dad tell him, it's me!"

Mackland pulled a hand down his face, and released a shaky breath. The images he'd glimpsed were still so sharp in his mind; the darkness that surrounded Dean hadn't been enough to disguise the blood.

"Dean's out there with Caleb," he said firmly. There was no doubt in Mackland's mind that the creature before them was an imposter an amazing replica of Dean.

Sam gasped off to his left, "That's why you wanted to know," the fifteen year-old said slowly, expression stunned as he took a step towards Dean.

"Sam," Dean's voice cracked painfully, "He's wrong!"

"Know what?" the Scholar asked sharply.

Sam was silent for a minute just staring at the creature who had stolen Dean's face. "He wanted to know if I ever wondered why the creatures kill," he explained, finally pulling his eyes away to glance between his father and Mackland.

"This is what I get for trying to have a serious conversation?" the tone was incredulous the voice so obviously Dean's. "Sam," he barked the name, "Last week Monday you got into a fight at school, I covered it for you!"

Sam's eyes went wide and he looked up at Mac his expression unsure, "How does he know that?"

"Shapeshifter Sam," John said grimly glancing at his youngest, "It's what they do." From inside his coat John produced a silver knife, and Mac saw the creature's eyes go wide with fear.

"Dad!" he exclaimed, "What do I need to do to prove I'm me?!"

"You got him?" John asked glancing briefly at Mackland.

He nodded once, "Do it."

Mackland reached out a hand instinctively to Sam drawing the boy closer to him, when he saw Sam's face contort in horror. He felt his own stomach twist sharply; Mac knew in his heart that this wasn't Dean. But that didn't make it any easier to watch as John pressed the tip of the silver knife against the creature's chest. The Scholar squeezed Sam's shoulder trying to offer what reassurance he could.

"Dad, please!" the creature pleaded one last time.

With a flick of John's wrist the blade bit into the tender flesh, and the creature cried out in pain. Almost immediately the veins around the gash became deep red, bulging under the thin layer of skin.

Dean's form appeared to ripple, fading before disappearing completely. Dean's jacket dropped down onto the much smaller shoulders of a tiny woman, and his silver ring clattered too the hardwood floor. The skin-walker hung completely naked accept for the denim, eyes aglow with a fierce light.

"Where are they?" John demanded shifting the tip of his knife to the inside of the skin-walker's throat.

"Why should I tell you?" she asked sweetly.

John's answer was another gash, running slowly across her collarbone.

She swallowed hard, "I have as much right to live as you."

"You lost that right when you started murdering," John threw back, bloodied knife trailing down her right arm.

"Like you're so innocent," she spat eyes squeezing tightly shut against the pain.

"Samuel," Mac turned his attention to the boy, "I need to know just how many caves are near the river, and close to where Caleb and Dean disappeared." It didn't matter to the Scholar that Sam had been raised to fight creatures the rest of the world thought were myths. The boy didn't need to stand here and watch this.

---SPN The Brotherhood SPN---

Progress was slow for Caleb as he followed the edge of the cave left hand trailing along the rough stone. He only had his Zippo to light the way. He'd left the lantern with Dean, not wanting to leave the kid in the dark while he searched for the exit.

The hunter's boot caught sharply on something he couldn't see, he just barely managed to catch himself with the help of a small rock outcropping. Looking down a tiny smile tugged at his lips when he saw Dean's beat up duffel resting on top of his boot. Caleb knelt down and tore into the bag quickly finding the spare flashlight and switched it on.

The tunnel lit up brightly before him. He took a second to scan the area around him making sure there wasn't anything he'd missed, before slinging the bag over his shoulder. Jogging down the tunnel, Caleb caught sight of a flickering light up ahead and made his way cautiously towards it.

Candles flickered all over the cave their scent doing nothing to conceal the sharp smell of blood. A wooden alter had been constructed at the very back of the room, several human hearts clustered together at the center. Reaves took a moment to study the various markings painted upon just about every surface. He recognized some as Navajo, they were part of the black craft the work of an 'ánt'įįhnii.

Caleb didn't waste any time pulling the salt and lighter fluid from the bottom of the duffle, and liberally covered the top of the alter. Fishing into his front pocket for the lighter Caleb sparked it to life with his thumb touching the flame to the wood and watched it go up in flames. He wasn't sure what sort of spell the skin-walker had been conjuring but there was no doubt it needed those hearts in one piece. With that done, Caleb went back the way he'd come, not willing to risk leaving Dean alone any longer.

He found the kid right where he'd left him, and felt his gut twist when Dean's chest hardly seemed to move.

"Deuce," he spoke sharply dropping down next to his friend.

Heavy lids fluttered open, "Still here."

"Good," he breathed a sigh of relief, "How're your arms feeling?"

Winchester winced, "Wonderful."

Reaves placed a hand on Dean's forehead, "It'll get better." He dug through the duffel bag his hand closing around a bottle of water, which he carefully offered to Dean.

Swallowing down a few sips of water Dean raised his right hand, "Where's my ring?" he asked flexing his fingers with a grimace.

Caleb swept the room with the focused beam of the flashlight but caught no sign of the silver ring. Another darker thought occurred to him, "You said you'd had a shot," he remembered, taking a quick drink from the water bottle. "Did you look her in the eyes?"

"Yeah," Winchester replied nodding his head slightly, "Her eyes were glowing…"

"And you said you remembered the lore," Caleb scoffed rocking back on his heels. "I've read if you look a skin-walker in the eyes they can take on your form."

"Fuck…" he swore raising his head with a groan.

"Easy," Reaves said moving to help Dean to a sitting position keeping a supporting arm across the kid's back.

Dean looked up at him expression unsure, "You don't think they'd be fooled by a cheap imitation…" he left it open.

Reaves wanted to say no, but he knew from some of the hunters journals he'd read just how convincing shapeshifters could be. "Do you think you can walk?" he chose to ask instead trying not to picture the world with two Dean Winchester's.

"You're not carrying me Damien," Dean returned indignantly with a rough cough.

He waited for the fit to pass before pulling Winchester's right arm across his shoulders. "You ready?" he asked eyeing Dean's pale features, there was a fine sheen of sweat on his forehead and upper lip.

"You going to give me a minute if I say no?" the kid returned rhetorically.

Reaves offered him a smirk, and waited for Dean to pull his legs up, before hauling them both to their feet. "Just keep breathing," he coaxed as what little color had been in Dean's face drained away. They stood like that for a couple minutes as Dean's shaking legs refused to support him.

"Any idea how long we've been gone?" Winchester asked voice strained as he focused on staying upright.

"Too long," he hadn't stopped to think about it yet there were too many other pressing matters.

A painful cough shook Dean's body, and Caleb wasn't so sure moving him had been a good idea as fresh blood splattered his pale lips. Hazel eyes regarded him from beneath heavy lids, "Bit my lip getting up."

"Right," he knew Dean had at least cracked a rib or two if not worse, and he adjusted his hold moving his right hand further down the kid's side. "Ready?" he asked feeling Dean take some of his own weight.

Winchester nodded once, and they started their slow progress out of the caves.

---SPN The Brotherhood SPN---

Sam glanced quickly over his shoulder towards the far side of the room. Although Mackland had moved to block his view of the shapeshifter it was difficult to concentrate on the maps in front of him. Sam flinched each time she cried out in pain, he understood what his dad was doing; they were all trying to save Dean and Caleb. But Sam didn't know what to make of the torture.

At a glance the shapeshifter didn't look any different than any other human girl; he thought she might have been around Caleb's age. She certainly didn't look like the usual monsters Sam had been raised to hunt and kill. It made his skin crawl and his stomach twist to think they were torturing a human being. Neither his dad nor Mackland appeared to have a problem.

He guessed that the Scholar was driven by the images he'd glimpsed when touching Dean's coat. The brief look of pain and horror that had passed across Mackland's face was still crystal clear in Sam's mind. He wanted to know what the doctor had seen, needed to know that his brother was alright.

A shudder ran down Sam's spin at the sounds of her ragged breaths, John wasn't giving her an inch. Despite that the shapeshifter hadn't offered anything of use, just accusations of the slaughter they'd brought on her kind. Sam tried to block it out, to remind himself that she was a monster; she had killed and needed to be stopped. He just didn't know how to reconcile her outward appearance with the monster he needed her to be.

"I won't ask you again," John warned and Sam was surprised he'd been this 'patient' so far.

The young hunter forced himself to look back at the map, using a black marker to section off a fair portion. Mackland's request had narrowed down their search area from just about everywhere to, a stretch of river at least two miles wide. It just wasn't enough.

The creature gasped for breath, "Why should I tell you?" she demanded, "Either you'll kill me after I give you what you want, or before."

Sam's gut twisted at her words, could they do that? Could they actually kill a creature as intelligent as her?

"Tell me what I want to know, and I'll make it quick," John replied harshly.

That answer didn't surprise Sam in the least he knew neither his dad nor Dean would have any problems with ending her. But Sam couldn't see this the same way he did their other hunts and the monsters that they killed. None of them had possessed this level of intelligence; he'd never had a conversation with one of them. And he couldn't help but wonder if any of them had been capable of this, just never given the chance.

In Sam's eyes this was just another nail in the coffin that was hunting.

She actually laughed, "Perhaps they're already dead," her voice was taunting.

Sam winced in anticipation of her screams of pain, silently glad they lived in a remote area, but they never came. Instead he heard several panicked gasps; curiosity pulled Sam away from his job.

"What the fuck?" John swore eyes locking accusingly on Mackland.

The Scholar shook his head, "I'm not doing this."

Blood slicked the front of the shapeshifter, her chest heaving as she fought to breathe. The veins on either side of her neck stood out sharply and her eyes appeared to bulge. From one second to the next the color drained from her face, and the fight left her body chin dropping to chest.

John had two fingers pressed tightly to her neck, "Is this some sort of trick?"

Sam watched as Mackland joined his dad, the physician checking for any signs of life. "I don't see what she'd gain from this," he confessed taking a step back.

"One way to be sure," John replied voice grim. Adjusting his grip on the bloodied silver knife, he drove it through the shapeshifter's heart.

She didn't react or move a muscle. An ashen pallor washed away the natural bronze of her skin. Sam had witnessed enough death in his young life to know she was gone.

John took hold of the shapeshifter and tossed a look back over his shoulder to Mackland, "Let her down."

Mackland blinked once and the creature fell limply into John's arms. There hadn't been many occasions for Sam to see Mac use his natural abilities, the Scholar rarely showcased them. "Where are you going to dispose of the body?" the doctor asked moving to help John.

Sam wasn't paying attention to his dad's answer; he caught sight of Dean's ring lying forgotten on the wooden floor. He could see spots of blood tarnishing the silver, and tried not to imagine it was a sign of the condition Dean was in. Sam reached down to pick up the cold silver and held it tightly, feeling the warmth of his hand slowly chase away the cold.

"We're going to find them Samuel," Mackland said coming up behind him.

Sam looked back over his shoulder, "He hasn't taken it off once…"

Mackland placed a hand on the back of Sam's neck giving it a gentle squeeze, "You'll get to return it to him."

He nodded slipping the ring safely inside his front pocket, before returning his attention to the maps. "I wasn't really able to narrow down the search," he admitted with a frustrated sigh.

"Was there anything else that could help?" Sam asked worried about what the answer might actually be.

Mackland turned his attention towards the map.

"Is Dean hurt?" he pressed, unwilling to take the doctor's silence as the obvious answer '_You don't want to know._'

"Could you bring me something of Caleb's?" Mackland deflected instead.

He wanted to demand the information, to insist he was mature enough to handle anything. But knew from the set of Mackland's jaw that he wasn't about to say anything else. Sam knew his standing here wasn't going to help Dean or Caleb.

With a frustrated sigh, Sam made his way to the small room at the end of the hall. Caleb had been staying with them since they'd started their hunt for the werewolf, and Sam suspected he was the reason behind their current home. The three bedroom house wasn't in perfect condition, but was a definite step up from the cheap motels John always managed to find.

Brown eyes swept over the neatly kept room trying to decide what of Caleb's would best help Mackland find the two missing hunters. Sam took hold of Reaves' journal and headed back to the living room.

Thanks for Reading!

Morganeth Taren'drel


	3. Chapter 3

**Too Little Too Late**

**AN**: This is the final chapter for the story, funny to think it all started out with Dean waking up in a cave with no idea of how he'd ended up there, not even I knew. I keep telling myself I'm not going to write stories where I'm learning at the same pace as the characters, but somehow they keep happening.

I'm sorry it took me so long to finish, for awhile there it just didn't want to be written. But I hope the fact that it's longer than the fist two combined helps to make up for the delay. I make a few references to Ridley's story Heroes Revisited [_it's not necessary for you to have read it for this story_]

I'd like to thank Ridley C. James for answering my never ending stream of random questions. I wouldn't have been able to write this story without your help!

I hope you all enjoy this last chapter!

Thanks to The Cleric 007 for editing!

**Disclaimer**: I don't own the characters from either Supernatural or the Brotherhood

**Chapter Three**

Dean stumbled, knees buckling under him, and the only thing that kept him from hitting the floor was Reaves' steadying hands holding wrist and belt loop. He thought he heard Caleb's encouraging voice but over the roar in his ears couldn't make out the words.

Winchester forced himself to keep moving, placing one foot determinedly in front of the other despite burning pain and bone weary exhaustion. Fear for his brother's safety and anger at himself drove Dean as much as the infamous Winchester pride. But had it not been for Damien he knew he wouldn't have made it far.

He felt the heavy weight of his actions, or lack thereof, weighing him down. This was entirely on him: he'd blinked, hesitated, given the skin-walker the window it needed, and why? Because it had been a girl? Because her naked body had seemed far too human for the monster they'd been hunting? He didn't have the answer, only '_could haves_' and '_should haves_' and none of those were going to help Sammy.

"Damien," Dean forced the name passed dry cracked lips. He knew it hadn't been that long since the last time they'd stopped but he needed a break, needed to try and catch his breath.

As they came to a stop Dean felt the urge to cough rise in his lungs and his desperate need for oxygen forced him to comply. Dropping his head, Dean coughed painfully feeling like he was choking as blood rose up his throat before spraying against the cave walls. His vision began to fade as he struggled to breathe, the white hot pain overriding all other thought.

"Just breathe, Deuce," Caleb's voice encouraged and Dean latched onto it, forcing his tightly clenched eyes to open. He was sitting now, leaning heavily against the hard rock, with Caleb kneeling in front of him.

Dean swallowed thickly, "Wish I could…stop."

"Here," Reaves said, his free hand slipping behind Dean's head as the water bottle appeared out of nowhere. Winchester sipped at it greedily letting his eyes fall closed.

Drawing in a shallow breath, Dean moved to gather himself; they didn't have time for him to give into pain and weakness. Winchester was far too aware of the urgency with which they needed to keep moving. He'd got them into this mess, and now Sammy was at risk because of it.

"Hey, just relax a minute," the psychic said, pressing his right hand down on Dean's shoulder effectively halting the movement.

"We don't have a minute," Dean ground out angrily.

"And killing yourself isn't going to help anyone," Caleb's voice was firm, but Dean could see that Reaves felt it too; his golden eyes continually flickering down the cave towards what they hoped would be the entrance.

"What about Sam?" he demanded gripping the front of Damien's shirt.

Reaves stared at him for a moment, his eyes going distant and he winced slightly. "He's alive Deuce. I seriously doubt your old man was fooled by the skin-walker, besides that I destroyed her altar. No idea what she was doing with it…"

"I screwed up," Dean spat, overriding his friend's attempts at reassurance. He trusted Damien's abilities, if he said Sammy was alive than it was true. But that didn't mean his brother wasn't in danger.

"Happens to the best of us, Deuce," Damien said with a sigh.

Dean was already shaking his head. "Have your mistakes almost cost your brother…his life?" he demanded, panting for breath. Try as he might to avoid thinking about what could happen with the skin-walker wearing his face, the possibilities just wouldn't let up. Dean knew he'd never be able to forgive himself it anything had happened to his brother because of his failure.

"This one could," Reaves answered solemnly. "If I don't get him to help soon."

"You're not responsible for this," Dean countered.

"I'm not?" Caleb's tone was incredulous. "You try telling that to Johnny."

Winchester blanched at the thought. "He'll have us running maneuvers until I'm thirty…" Dean licked his lips before looking into his friend's eyes, "I think I'd rather stay here," he decided tone dry but pained.

"And leave me to answer to the Runt?" the psychic shook his head. "Not happening."

"Then we'd better keep moving," Dean said, trying to prepare himself for the pain he'd experience getting back to his feet.

Caleb took hold of Dean's forearm avoiding his raw and bloodied wrists. "You ready?"

---SPN the Brotherhood SPN---

With a low growl, John scooped another shovel load of dirt, tossing it out of the growing pit he was standing in. He couldn't just stand still waiting for Mac to narrow down their search area; besides that, they did have a body to dispose of. The physical work proved a useful outlet for his frustration and anger.

He'd let himself be fooled by the creature they'd been hunting; so worried about finding Caleb alive he hadn't noticed how oddly Dean was acting. At least this had told him something: Dean was most likely alive. John didn't fully understand how a shapeshifter or skin-walker entered the minds of those they mimicked but he did know they needed to keep that person living.

That small bit of knowledge wasn't near enough to erase John's anger at himself for just how badly this hunt had gone. He was all too aware that Sammy could easily say '_I told you _so' but wouldn't. At least not outright; John still had enough control over his family to be sure of that.

Placing the shovel near the pile of dirt, John reached for the skin-walker's body, dragging the dead weight down into the pit. His rage over the situation flared to life again as he looked down at the bloodied corpse; she'd got the last word in. John had even been deprived the right to end her miserable life himself. Somehow he got the distinct impression that Dean and Caleb might have been responsible for the creature's death. That too was encouraging.

John climbed out of the grave, not for the first time glad they lived on the forested edge of town where neighbors couldn't be nosey about his growing arguments with Sam, or the screams of a dying skin-walker. He wanted to salt and burn the remains, to be sure the creature's spirit was put to rest, but it would have to wait.

---SPN the Brotherhood SPN---

"Almost there," Caleb encouraged, speaking directly into Dean's ear to be heard over the roar of rushing water.

Filtered daylight flooded the path ahead of them but gave Caleb little sense of relief; they were still stranded in the middle of nowhere with no means to contact their family. He knew that wasn't entirely true; there was at least one option open to Reaves if they had no other choices. Despite the desperate nature of their situation the psychic was still hesitant to try, remembering all too clearly what had happened the last time he'd stepped into Sammy's mind in order to save Dean.

The younger hunter's ragged breaths were a constant reminder that things weren't getting any better for them. It didn't matter that they'd escaped, getting out of those caves was only the first problem they faced. Caleb had no idea where they'd been taken, how far off from the hunting grounds they'd gone. He knew there was no way Dean could make any lengthy hike back to civilization, he was impressed the kid had managed this far.

Looking back ahead, Caleb could see the entrance to the cave: it was narrow and overgrown with shrubbery but the sunlight found its way through and Damien thought he felt Dean perk up a little at the sight.

"You did good kiddo," Reaves commended, gently lowering Dean against the cave wall.

Dean's head immediately fell back against the wall; his tired eyes slipping closed an instant before a harsh wet cough had him doubling over. Caleb helped to support his friend, feeling Dean's pain lance through his head as more blood sprayed from Deuce's lips. When the fit had passed, Reaves retrieved what little water they had left and pressed it into Dean's shaking hands.

The kid took a mouthful before offering it to Reaves.

He raised a hand, "I'm good." It was a lie. There was a slowly growing headache behind his eyes; whether from dehydration of a mild concussion rearing its ugly head he didn't know.

Caleb straightened up, crossing the short distance to the entrance of the cave. The hunter glanced out through the narrow opening. The roar of the river told them at least one thing: they were somewhere north of town. But that didn't give Reaves near enough to go on.

"Damien…"

He barely heard his name above the din but clearly felt Dean's eyes boring into the back of his head. "What is it Deuce?" he asked, stepping back over to the kid's side. Reaves dropped down onto one knee, the sudden movement throwing off his equilibrium and forcing him to brace his weight with one hand.

"I'm sorry," Dean said, bluntly green eyes staring directly into amber.

"For what?" he forced his tone to be light, despite the sinking feeling in his gut.

Dean shook his head once, "Tell Sammy--"

That was all Caleb was going to let him say. "Stop it!" he bit out harshly. "We're getting out of here, do you hear me?!"

"Just because you say it…doesn't make it so," the kid told him stubbornly.

"You giving up on me?" he demanded, reaching out to grip the back of Dean's sweaty neck his thumb resting lightly against the kid's carotid artery. "You giving up on Sammy?" Reaves' felt Dean's pulse jump as a wash of dark emotions rushed over him.

The silence was heavy between them. Dean's green eyes focused on the bottle of water he still held loosely in one hand. Caleb gave his neck a gentle squeeze, "Just rest here for a minute while I take a quick look outside."

"What do you expect to find?" Dean asked, raising his eyes to Caleb's face.

"Something useful," he replied cryptically and stood up again. He stopped swallowing hard when blackness swam eagerly before his vision.

"You alright?"

He didn't like how weak Dean's voice was sounding and turned his head to offer the kid a reassuring smile. "Don't worry about me, Deana," he tried for a light mocking tone, desperate to bring a little levity back, to offer Dean a little hope. "Just focus on staying awake, I won't be long."

Reaves made his way out into the daylight, squeezing through the narrow opening, the overgrowth pulled at his skin and clothes. Shielding his eyes against the overwhelming light of the sun, Caleb surveyed his surroundings. He didn't see anything that looked familiar and wasn't all that surprised; they hadn't been near the river when they'd set out.

Stepping away from the mouth of the cave the psychic looked down the small ledge to the river rushing past. White rapids broke the surface, increasing the hiss and roar of the racing waters. Glancing downstream, Caleb saw a fork in the river; from his position he couldn't tell if it was an honest divide or merely a broken piece of land surrounded by the river.

Amber eyes quickly surveyed the rest of his surrounding but couldn't fine anything more prominent than that break in the river. It was just rocks and trees as far as the eye could see. There was what appeared to be a game trail leading away from the river and cave; Caleb thought it looked as if it had seen more traffic that just the occasional deer but he wasn't willing to leave Dean any longer in order to explore it.

Slipping back into the shadows of the cave, Caleb tried to think of what he could say to Dean. It was just what he'd expected to find but as hopeless as that might have appeared, he still had a plan. He just didn't know if Dean would forgive him.

It took a moment for his eyes to adjust to the lack of light but when they did Reaves' heart sank. Dean lay across the floor of the cave, blood coating his mouth and chin and fine droplets stained the uneven rock. He was pale and hardly seemed to move.

Damien fell to his knees next to his best friend, fingers of his right hand searching for a pulse. He found it with little trouble but it was fast and erratic. All possible concerns for what could go wrong flew from Caleb's thoughts as he took a firm hold on Dean and concentrated on the link he shared with Sam.

---SPN the Brotherhood SPN---

Sam had just stepped into the living room, when he felt a sharp pain grow behind his eyes. "Ow…" he groaned, massaging his forehead as the pain slowly receded.

Looking up, Sam gasped in pain as the living room flashed out of existence; images shot across his vision jerking sharply remaining blurry and just out of reach.

"Sam?"

He blinked back the pain and for a brief moment saw Mackland's concerned face near his. Clarity passed quickly as Sam dropped Caleb's journal, hands reaching up to grip his head as more images were forced into his skull.

They screeched before him, overlaying each other in their desperate attempt to be seen. Sam panicked, his body instinctively fighting off this intrusion but there was nowhere for him to run, no defenses he could throw up to protect himself.

Vaguely Sam heard himself cry out in pain as his mind was flooded for a third time. The images came separately now though they still jumped around as though being shown on a shaking projector. Sam found himself standing at the edge of the river the water rushing past sending foam spraying into the air. He saw the river branched off down stream, and looked over his shoulder to see the mouth of a cave behind him.

"Sammy?!"

His eyes were squeezed tightly shut against the onslaught.

"Sam, I need you to look at me."

The words filtered in, as Sam's addled brain finally caught up from the attack and he recognized both worried voices of his dad and Mackland. Pulling in a gasping breath, Sam's eyes flew open, his body jerking back to life.

"Easy," Mackland told him gently, as Sam's eyes darted around.

He was lying on the floor of the living room, shoulders and head supported in his dad's arms. Sam didn't remember falling or his dad coming back into the house. "What happened?" he asked, wincing as he head continued to ache.

"I think you might have had a vision," the doctor answered and Sam felt John tense at the word. He caught the look the Knight and Scholar shared but couldn't seem to make sense of it.

"Like the nightmares I had, when Dean was caught by the Raw?" he asked, pushing himself up from John. Sam rubbed at his temples. This hadn't felt the same at all; he hadn't seen or spoken to Dean.

"It's possible," Mackland responded, finally, placing a hand on Sam's shoulder. "Tell me what you saw."

Sam thought through the jumble of images before honing in on the clearest, "I saw the river."

"We already know they're near the river," John grumbled, but was silenced by a glare from Mac.

"The river forked!" Sam exclaimed, jumping to his feet. He rushed to the table before either his dad or Mackland had time to speak, pulling the map over to him, his index finger following the blue line of the river. "Here," he said triumphantly; there was only one marked cave near where the river forked.

Mackland and John were at his side peering over his shoulders a second later. "There's a Rafting station a quarter mile up from there," John said, stabbing the map with his index finger.

"They should be able to offer assistance until the paramedics can get there," Mackland agreed, as the both stepped away from the table reaching for phones.

Sam was left standing there stunned. The headache he had been left with had receded to as dull ache just above his eyes. He rubbed at his forehead, trying to make sense of it all. The vision scared him; he knew he wasn't like Caleb, didn't have psychic abilities, and yet he experienced what it was like. None of it made any sense to him.

Mackland's strong hand squeezed Sam's shoulder and the teen looked up searching the Scholar's features. "What's happening to me?" he asked feeling genuinely unnerved.

"I believe Caleb projected those images to you."

Sam's eyes went wide at the implication, "This means Caleb's alright?" He knew from Mackland's reaction to touching Dean's coat that his brother was still alive; more than likely injured but still breathing. They had yet to receive any sign about the psychic; brown eyes sought out the discarded journal still resting in the center of the living room.

"He wouldn't have been able to do this if he wasn't thinking clearly," the doctor confirmed, with a reassuring smile though there was still a great deal of worry in his eyes.

"Did he have to make it hurt so much?" Sam complained, pinching the bridge of his nose.

Mackland's lips twitched up slightly, "The mind is never open to sudden intrusion like that," he explained. "Your body immediately tries to protect itself."

"Alright!" John called, striding back into the living room, "Let's go!"

---SPN the Brotherhood SPN---

Caleb sat waiting; there was nothing else he could do and it tore him up inside. He had no way of knowing if Sam had received his '_message_' and therefore no way to know if help was even on the way. Reaves ran both hand through his long black hair, growling in utter frustration before his amber gaze dropped down onto Dean's prone form.

He didn't know how much longer Dean had in his present condition but he couldn't risk moving him further; too much damage might already have been done just making it to the entrance of the cave. Reaves told himself it had had to be done but looking down at the kid's pale sweaty features it was hard to convince himself of that. It didn't matter that Dean might not have had all that much more time if they'd remained in the back of the cave or that Caleb wouldn't have had any idea of where they were. If Deuce didn't wake up from this Reaves knew he wouldn't be able to forgive himself.

As it was the hunter had done all he could for the kid, drawing on what little knowledge Mackland had managed imparted over the years. There just wasn't much he could do without proper supplies.

Releasing a tightly held breath, Reaves pressed two fingers to the inside of Dean's neck, feeling for the kid's thready pulse, checking for shock. So long as Deuce's heart continued pump and he remained breathing on his own, Caleb had to believe there was still hope.

A pained sigh escaped Caleb as he dropped his forehead into the palm of his hands. The ache which had originated behind his eyes now trailed down his neck and along his jaw. What had been ignorable before was now all too present, causing his vision to blur if he moved his head too quickly. Caleb knew he'd probably made his concussion worse by reaching out to Sam but he would have willingly done it again if it's what would save Dean.

Caleb's head came up suddenly, his vision swimming, leaving him grateful that he was sitting. He could have sworn he'd heard something beyond the pounding of the river.

"Hello?!" a voice called from outside the cave.

Without thinking, Caleb reached out with his mind as he moved to stand. He didn't make it beyond his knees when white hot pain flared behind his eyes, leaving him gasping for breath. Swallowing back the pain, Reaves forced himself to his feet.

"Is anyone here?" the voice called again, sounding much closer this time.

"In here!" Caleb called sharply, stepping to the entrance of the cave and forcing the shrubbery aside. Squinting against the painfully bright light, the psychic caught sight of the man behind the voice.

He wasn't dressed like a paramedic but did carry an easily distinguishable first aid kit over his left shoulder. The minute his blue eyes landed on Reaves a smile curved his lips, a look of relief washing across his face. "Are you Caleb or Dean?" he asked striding quickly to the cave.

"Caleb," he answered, stepping aside.

"I'm Brian," he introduced. "We got a call ten minutes ago that you'd run into some trouble."

Reaves gave the guy a wary look. "You're not a paramedic," he stated flatly.

"No," Brian shook his head. "I work a quarter mile up river at Rapids. The ambulance is on its way."

Caleb allowed himself to breathe a sigh of relief. It had worked. He just hoped Sam was alright. He quickly returned his attention turned back to Dean, seeing that Brian was already moving towards the kid. The guy's eyebrows rose in obvious question at the sight of Dean's torn bloody wrists before he swept a quick glance over Caleb as well. Reaves resisted the urge to glance down at his own bruised wrists, instead placing a reassuring hand on Dean's shoulder.

"What happened?" It was the obvious question, but the one Caleb wanted to deal with least.

"Doesn't matter, what have you got in that bag?" he said, switching gears.

"Just the basics really," Brian said, sliding the strap off his shoulder. "Do you know what his injuries are?"

"Concussion, cracked ribs, he may be bleeding internally," Caleb swallowed hard. "He's been coughing up a fair deal of blood."

Brian unzipped the bag, "With a concussion you should have kept him awake, how long as he been out?"

"You think I don't know that?" the hunter snapped, fighting to rein in his flaring temper as he reminded himself help was on the way. Dean would survive this. "Maybe close to thirty minutes," he admitted finally.

The man raised his hands in a placating motion but Reaves hardly noticed as a soft groan escaped Dean's parted lips. Caleb leaned down close to Winchester's head, his palm slamming against the rough stone in an effort to keep his head from hitting the dirt when the world seem to tip beneath him. "Deuce?" he spoke encouragingly into Dean's ear. "You back with me?"

"Damien…"

It was a near perfect repeat of them waking up in the cave and Caleb shut his eyes against the tears of relief. "I told you we'd be getting out of here."

"Think you're…always…right…" Dean whispered, having yet to open his eyes.

"I am always right," he returned, tone confident, amber eyes flicking up to Brian, "Got a penlight?"

"Here," Brian said, handing him the requested item.

Reaves was grateful to the fact that he didn't try and take over; Caleb didn't think he'd have handled it well. "You're not going to like this Deuce," he warned, gently thumbing back Dean's right eyelid.

"Then don't…do it," the kid slurred, groaning as the focused beam of light passed over his eye.

"Any idea how far out that ambulance is?" Caleb demanded, his hand shifting to rest protectively on Dean's forehead.

Brian shook his head, "It shouldn't be too much longer, this part of the river's only about three hundred yards off from the road."

"Do me a favor, go flag them down," he barked the order without thought and was a little surprised when Brian got up to do what he'd asked.

Caleb reached for the first aid kit, dragging it to him and quickly dug through it finding a space blanket. "How're you feeling Deuce?" he asked. tearing open the packaging before throwing the lightweight material over Dean's body.

"Awesome…" was the one word reply; even pained as his voice was, it was still dripping with sarcasm. Dean's eyes opened a little wider and Reaves was relieved to see them tracking his movements. "Damien?" his tone was questioning.

"Yeah?"

"You're bleeding," Dean pointed out, his trembling hand lifting from his side to point at Caleb's face.

The hunter started back from the hand pointing towards his upper lip, he hadn't even realized his nose had been bleeding. Swiping his thumb beneath his nose Caleb realized the blood had long since dried. "Don't worry about it," he shrugged the matter aside, listening intently for the sound of Brian's return.

Dean's eyes continued to follow his every move and, as glad as he was to have the kid back with him, Caleb was worried what Deuce might catch watching him. He didn't want to tell Dean what he'd done until he knew it hadn't caused Sammy any injury but the knowledge still hung heavily between them.

"How long…was I…" Dean began, swallowing hard.

"Out?" Caleb finished, pulling a fresh bottle of water from the kit and uncapping it. "Nearly a half hour," he said, gently raising the kid's head so he could drink. "You scared the hell out of me Deuce."

Dean's lips turned up in a tired smile, "Sorry, couldn't breathe."

"How're you doing now?" He could hear the rough sound of each breath Dean managed to pull in.

"Can't seem too…catch it," Dean admitted through quick pants.

Reaves placed his hand on Dean's forehead. "You're alright," he tried to assured. "Just take slow breaths, in and out."

Winchester nodded once, drawing shallow breaths in through his mouth. Caleb bit down on his lip, eyes darting for the entrance; he didn't like how much trouble Dean was having to just breathe normally. The kid stretched his head up as though trying to open his airway and that's when Reaves saw it: Dean's throat was deviating toward the right. Panic flooded Caleb from all sides; his own emotion, drawn out from feelings of helplessness, was nearly over run by Dean's as he fought to breathe.

"Hold on Deuce!" he barked, hands fumbling desperately for a syringe. He could have sworn he heard Mackland's voice in his head, a calming presence talking him down. Caleb knew what he had to do, he had to re-inflate Dean's collapsed lung. Tearing the syringe from its protective wrappings the psychic pulled the plunger from it and lay his left palm down on the left side of Dean's chest his fingers spread; with only a second's hesitation he plunged the tip of the syringe into Dean's chest.

The younger hunter coughed once, gasping for breath as his lung expanded again; his eyes flashing open for a second before squeezing tightly shut.

"Caleb!"

He heard his name shouted a moment before Brian stepped back into the cave. Reaves barely spared the man a glance, his amber eyes honing in on the two new faces that followed a step behind. The paramedics wasted no time dropping their bags and the backboard they carried. Without needing to be told, Caleb shifted so he was kneeling behind Dean's head, not wanting to get in the way but unwilling to leave his friend's side.

"What's his name?" the older of the two men asked, looking at Reaves while his partner began his examination.

"Deu…Dean," he caught himself with a slight shake of his head, cursing silently when it sent the world slanting under him.

"Did you do this?" the man asked, then indicating the syringe.

"His breathing's rough, let's get him on oxygen," the younger man announced, pulling the stethoscope from his ears.

"Yeah," Caleb answered, avoiding moving his head anymore than was necessary.

"You did good," the paramedic praised, resting a gloved hand on Reaves' shoulder.

Damien pulled away from the unwelcome touch, believing he'd done anything but good in this hunt.

---SPN the Brotherhood SPN---

John pulled the Impala onto the shoulder of the dirt road, coming to a stop about a car's length back from the ambulance. He cast a brief glance into the rearview mirror, brown eyes searching out his youngest's face before getting out of the car. Sam had been strangely quiet the ride over and John tried not to look at his son differently; telling himself again and again that the '_vision_' had been Caleb's doing. He tried not to think that Reaves has specifically chosen Sam for this in an attempt to undermine his wishes.

Slamming the door shut behind him, John strode towards the back of the ambulance, sharp eyes seeing the broken trail that lead into the trees. The path was steep leading down towards the river the forest thick on either side. He strode purposefully down the trail, hearing Mackland and Sam less than half a step behind him. The thick foliage worked surprisingly well at muffling the sound of the river but John could still hear it in the distance and he lengthened his stride. The ground became progressively rockier the closer they got to the river's edge, less trees and more rocky outcroppings forcing their way towards the light.

"Be careful with him!"

John heard Caleb's voice a second before he stepped out onto the clear ledge just before the river. "Caleb!" he barked, the name eyes falling onto Reaves' disheveled form. The kid stood to the outside of the small cave opening holding back the shrubbery that had over grown it.

"Johnny!" Reaves exclaimed in obvious relief, as John crossed the distance to Caleb's side and helped pull the thick shrub towards him.

"Where's Dean?" he demanded, tone harsher that he'd wanted.

"Caleb!" Sam and Mac's voices chorused.

The young psychic spared his father and Sam a glance before looking up at John; his golden eyes were distant, glassy. "They're bringing him out," he swallowed hard, looking as though he were about to apologize.

"Alright step aside Junior, you look like you're about ready to keel over," John said gruffly, affectionately gripping Caleb's shoulder as he directed him towards his father.

"Mac, when did you get here?" he asked, sounding surprised.

John's attention honed in on the narrow entrance to the cave, seeing the two paramedics slowly working their way out with Dean carried between them. His heart clenched in his chest at the sight of Dean; he appeared pale and lifeless, the blood staining his face and clothes only adding to the effect. As the first paramedic stepped into the sunlight, John got a better look at his son, noting that Dean's chest was rising and falling all on its own. He didn't miss the syringe poking from the left side of his chest.

"Mac," he called, looking over his shoulder to see the physician already making his way over.

"I'm Dr. Ames," he introduced right off, stepping along side Dean, "What do we have?"

The older of the two paramedics looked up at Mackland before diving into a litany of medical jargon John had to struggle to keep up with. He understood enough of the terminology to know it was serious, though just looking at Dean had told him that.

"Dean!" Sam's panicked voice sounded to John's left and instinctively he reached out a hand to stop his youngest. "Let me go!" Sam fumed, eyes not leaving his brother.

"He's going to be alright Sam," Mac spared a moment to reassure as he strode along side the stretched back towards the trail.

John released Sam with a breath before turning towards Caleb; the younger hunter was staring back at him blankly as though the events he'd just lived through were not falling into place. "Are you alright, Junior?" he asked, placing a guiding hand on Caleb's shoulder.

"Yeah," the psychic replied distractedly, following the others up the path.

John didn't believe it; he seriously doubted Caleb did either but he let it slide for now since they were heading for the hospital already.

"What happened to the skin-walker?" Caleb asked, turning at the waist so he could regard John.

"It died."

"She had an altar, back in the cave," the hunter explained, pulling a hand down his face.

John closed the distance between them. "You destroyed it?"

"Burned it," Caleb confirmed John's suspicion about the skin-walker's sudden death. "She was keeping their hearts, some sort of black magic."

They continued on in silence, John looking ahead to Sam who followed Mackland and his brother as closely as the trail would allow. It felt hard to believe that less than twenty-four hours had passed since Dean and Caleb had gone missing; since their hunt for a werewolf had turned into one for a skin-walker.

"How convincing was she?" Reaves asked, eying John with a sideways glance.

John was ashamed to admit even to himself that he'd been fooled by her, more than willing to tell himself he'd been distracted by Caleb's disappearance. The excuses fell short of meeting his own personal standards.

"You didn't catch it did you?"

John's eyes narrowed. "You poking around where you shouldn't be, Junior?" he growled.

"No, Johnny," was Caleb's tired reply. "A blind man could read your body language."

He liked that answer even less than finding out Reaves had in fact read him.

"John," Mackland's voice called sharply just as John and Caleb cleared the trees. The Scholar was already half inside the back of the ambulance. "I'll ride with Dean."

"We'll be right behind you," he said, fishing the keys to the Impala from his front pocket.

"Hey Runt," Caleb said, dropping a hand down on Sam's shoulder as he directed the youngest Winchester away from the ambulance and back towards their car. "Your head alright?" he asked and John didn't miss the glance the psychic tossed his way.

"Is that what one of your visions feel like?" Sam returned, getting into the back of the Impala.

"Sorry about that, didn't think I had much choice in the matter."

The engine roared to life, John watched Caleb slump against the seat as Sam leaned his long arms over the back rest sitting on the very edge of the back bench. "I'm just glad I was able to help," he said, brown eyes locked on the back of the ambulance; "And I seriously hope we don't have to do that again."

"Mac always says it'd go easier if I just relaxed and accept it," Caleb breathed, his eyes falling closed.

"Hard to do that when you're not expecting it," Sam contended immediately.

"Exactly."

---SPN the Brotherhood SPN---

From one moment to the next, Dean became aware; he realized that he way lying down, his bed much improved from the last time he'd regained consciousness. In fact everything had improved since that time lying on the cave floor fighting for each molecule of oxygen. His chest felt tight, unusually heavy, but he no longer felt on the edge of panic as his body screamed for more oxygen. For a moment he just let himself relax, almost content enough slip back into the blackness.

It was the thought of Sammy that had Dean struggling to open his eyes. Watery light flooded his visions for a second before his eyelids slipped shut; he tried again only to be met with the same results.

"I think he's waking up," Sam's relieved voice went a long way towards easing Dean's mind. He'd believed Reaves back in the caves: if the psychic could still feel Sammy than the kid had to be alive. But hearing his voice made it all the more real.

"Dean?"

-_Mac?_- he thought groggily.

"That's right," the doctor's reply confused Dean, until he realized he must have actually voiced his thought.

"What?" he asked tiredly, attempting to open his eyes again without much success.

"You're safe, you're in the hospital," Mackland explained, though the smell alone had been enough to tell Dean that.

Memories flooded his mind in a disjointed stream, leaving him confused, struggling for clarity. "Damien?" the name slipped from his lips as he finally managed to keep his eyes partially opened.

"He's here, Dean," Sam assured, and it left him wondering why Damien wasn't speaking for himself.

Dean felt a hand come to rest on his left shoulder. "I need you to take a couple of deep breaths for me okay?" Mackland asked, his outline slowly coming into focus through Dean's lashes.

"Sure," the word sounded slurred to his ears and a moment later he felt the light pressure of a stethoscope against his chest. Dean drew in a few breaths, expanding his lungs as far as they'd allow. feeling his body shake off a little more of its lethargy as he blood was flooded with oxygen.

"You're going to be sore for awhile," the Scholar informed.

"Tell me something I don't know," he returned. tiredly opening his eyes a little wider until he saw Mac reach for the dreaded penlight.

Mackland's lips twitched into a tiny smile. "You'll be kept here for at least twenty-four hours."

"Tell me something I want to hear," Dean said dryly.

"I found your ring," Sam piped up immediately, his smiling face coming into focus as Dean turned his attention over to his brother. The youngest Winchester fished into his front pocket, producing the silver ring a second later.

Dean smiled at the sight turning his right hand over as Sam dropped the ring into his palm. "Good job Sammy," he said, struggling a little to coordinate his tired limbs but he managed to put the ring back on. With the cold metal pressing against his finger, Dean reached for his brother's arm, squeezing it securely. "Are you alright?"

Sammy rolled his eyes, "I'm fine, Dean."

He squeezed his brother's arm again, anchoring himself in the reality that Sam hadn't been hurt because of his mistake. Dean knew he wasn't likely to forget that feeling of panic any time soon; instead he wanted to use it. There wasn't supposed to be any shades of grey in the work they did: they hunted evil and, though it might take on the familiar form of a weak and innocent human, Dean couldn't let himself hesitate again. Next time, Sammy might pay the ultimate price.

Finally opening his eyes past half mast, Dean took in his surroundings, overlooking the obligatory white hospital room and instead focusing in on the people that should have been there. "Where's Dad and Damien?" he asked, looking from his brother back to Mackland.

"Dad went to get food," Sam replied, answering half the question.

Mac took a step back from the hospital bed to reveal a second bed, where Reaves lay clearly sound asleep. Dean quickly took in his pale features, made all the paler by the dark stubble lining his cheeks. He remembered how out of it Damien had looked back in the caves. "Is he alright?"

"He's going to be fine," Mac assured, looking back over his shoulder at his son while he spoke. "He overexerted himself with a concussion, leading us to you."

"What?"

"Caleb projected images of where you were into my head," Sam explained, his expression hard to read.

"What, like a vision?" Dean asked, rubbing a hand tiredly down his face.

Mackland nodded in confirmation, "More or less."

"Did it hurt?"

"Yeah," Sam said, with an emphatic nod, "But I'm okay now, headache left hours ago."

"Good," Dean breathed a sigh of relief, letting his head fall to the side, green eyes absently studying Caleb's face as he tried to filter through everything that had happened. "How long were we gone?" he asked suddenly, unable to settle on how much time had passed.

"Less than twenty-four hours," Mac supplied.

"Bloody long twenty-four," he grumbled around a yawn.

The physician offered him an understanding smile, "You should try and get some rest. I am going to go get a coffee."

Sam took a seat on the edge of the bed once the door had closed, again his eyes appearing to stare down at the ring on Dean's right hand. "I'm sorry," he mumbled softly.

"For what?"

Sam hesitated to answer at first, his eyes looking anywhere but at Dean's face, "I was only worried about Caleb at first. I didn't even know you were missing."

"You feel bad because a skin-walker fooled you?" Dean asked incredulously. "Dude, that's what they do."

"I should have caught it sooner," Sam said with a shake of his head, "You weren't acting like you."

"How was 'I' acting?" he smirked a little at that; it wasn't every day he could ask that.

Sam's brown eyes flickered briefly to Dean's face. "Calm," he smirked a little. "You were way too calm for having just lost your best friend on a hunt."

"What else?" Dean felt his own lips turn up in a smile.

"Well, you wanted to know if I ever wondered why the creatures we hunt kill," Sam continued, gaining the strength to easily look Dean in the face.

Dean's head jerked a little at that. "Cause that's what they do," he stated flatly, seeing Sam's smile widen. Clearly that was the answer he'd expected. "Please tell me that set off alarms for you."

"Of course it did," Sam laughed a little, eyes darting over to Caleb. "A lot of the things you said did. Hell you were talking me down, I was acting more like you than you were."

Dean chuckled at the thought, wincing when his mirth caused his chest to ache painfully. He took a few shallow breaths, breathing through the pain, forcing himself to draw breath normally. He'd cracked enough ribs to know he had to breathe normally or he'd risk fluid building up in his lungs. "So what happened to the skin-walker?" he finally asked when his head was no longer swimming.

"I killed her," Caleb's voice spoke up from across the room.

"Damien," Dean exclaimed in relief.

"Hey Deuce," Reaves smiled, sitting up on the edge of the bed, "How're you feeling?"

Dean raised a hand waving away the question, "You killed the bitch?" he asked, directing the conversation back. "I don't remember that."

"I found her altar," Caleb said pulling a hand through his hair. "Back in the cave, we figure she was using black magic to prolong her life."

"That's what she needed the hearts for," he said, pulling a hand down his jaw.

"That's our best guess," John said, stepping into the room with a takeout bag in his left hand.

Dean moved without thinking, trying to sit up, not wanting to show so much weakness in front of his dad.

"Stay put, Ace," his tone was gruff but Dean could see relief in his father's eyes as he handed the bag to Sammy.

He bit his lip, wanting to apologize for his mistakes but knew the words would be hollow and useless. John knew, they both did; he'd learn from this, you learned from everything and you moved on. That didn't make the guilt any lighter to carry, not that apologizing would have eased it any either. Dean glanced as Sam's profile as he pulled out a few fries stuffing them into his mouth.

He wouldn't hesitate again.

Thanks for Reading!

Morganeth Taren'drel


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